


The Discovery of the Century

by TheBatchild



Series: Undisclosed [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruce Banner's cabin, Gen, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, mentioned in Agents of SHIELD, post-defrosting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: After months of inactivity and months of physical therapy, Agent Quinn Scott has finally returned to work. However, light duty work is boring and she's about ready to start climbing the walls. Then the discovery of the century is made: the body of Steve Rogers is found, alive, and nothing in Quinn's life will be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

_April 14th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD HQ_

"Good morning, Agent Scott."

Quinn smiled at the receptionist—the third new one in as many months—as she slipped her sunglasses from her face and pushed them back into her hair. It was getting almost unreasonably long, the ends curling around her biceps. "Morning, Trish. Anything exciting happening today?"

Trish adjusted her glasses and gave Quinn a small grin. "Agent Coulson told me to send you into his office as soon as you arrived. He had a smile on his face as bright as the sun, so I would guess something good is happening today. And he left this for you," she said, passing Quinn a thin black folder.

Butterflies of anticipation fluttered to life in Quinn's gut. A black folder meant one thing: the Avengers Initiative. "Thanks," she said, trying not to sound as excited as she felt. She took the folder and headed down the hall, deeper into the New York headquarters of SHIELD.

There hadn't been a serious development in any of the cases flagged for the Avengers Initiative in almost a year—the case in New Mexico had been the last where something had actually happened, and that thing had put Quinn in the hospital for a long time. And with Quinn having been on light duty since returning to work in March, she was starving for something exciting to happen. Agent Phil Coulson had done his best to keep his protégé from getting too bored, but there was only so much that could be done in the confines of an office, even if one worked for SHIELD. And tracking listings for old Captain America collectibles, specifically comics and trading cards, only filled so much of the dead time.

But the black folder Trish had handed Quinn… Something told Quinn that things were about to get _very_ exciting.

She waited until she was in the elevator and headed for the twenty-fifth floor, her backpack propped up on the handrail running around the outside of the car to take some of the weight off her back and her bad leg, before she flipped open the slim folder. Something told her she wanted to be alone when she opened that folder.

Captain America's shield, covered in ice, was there to greet her.

The butterflies turned into an all-out twister; excitement buzzed along her nerves.

She flipped the photograph over. Her tawny eyes scanned the typed words on the next page, but she knew somehow what she would find.

They'd discovered the body of Steve Rogers.

Captain America had finally been found.

And he was alive.

She flipped that page and was greeted by another full-colour photo, this one of the infamous Captain himself, the blue, white, and red of his uniform resplendent even under the layers of ice covering him. Quinn knew she was smiling from ear-to-ear.

He was alive.

Something in his super soldier serum must have managed to keep him in some sort of hibernation… The full report would have the SHIELD scientist's hypotheses and equations she couldn't really understand—it didn't really matter why or how he was alive. All that mattered was that he _was_ alive.

The elevator stopped and she stepped out into the hall. If she hadn't needed to wear a leg brace, she would have run to Coulson's office. As it was, she walked as fast she could, her limp more pronounced as she hurried. A brief pulse of pain forced her to slow down again. She made a small noise of frustration, but walked the rest of the way, obeying her body's warning signs.

Coulson's office door was closed, but she didn't bother knocking. Quinn strode right in and dropped the file on the surface of his desk, the pages slipping out and fanning across the black surface, the shield front and centre.

"No fucking way!" she exclaimed, no longer able to keep her exuberance contained.

"Watch your language." When Quinn raised an eyebrow at him, Coulson's face lit up in a grin of his own, deviousness in his eye. "But it's true." He grabbed the side of his monitor and turned it around so Quinn could see it. "They set up a live feed so we could watch the excavation of the craft he was found in."

Quinn sank into the chair she'd come to think of as hers—the one directly across from Coulson—dropping her backpack on the floor with a thud; she normally carried her things in a messenger bag, but the doctor insisted she use a backpack until she was healed—balance or some other crap like that. She crossed her arms on the desk and put her chin on them as she watched the slightly grainy footage.

It was dark, a small area illuminated only by the bright spotlights SHIELD's scientists and workmen had brought in. Part of the craft—it looked like a very big, very oddly shaped plane of some kind—was sticking out of the ground. The team had removed a few sections of panelling from the outside of it, revealing a snow-covered metal interior that reminded Quinn of a dream she'd repeatedly had after her accident. She'd chalked it up to medication and pain, but…

_Freaky,_ she thought.

Just outside the craft, the frozen body of Steve Rogers lay on a stretcher, belted in with his shield secured below him. There were chunks of ice sticking to his body, and his skin looked a little blueish, but he had been mostly freed from the ice. Quinn had a bizarre urge to reach out and touch the screen, but she withheld it. From the look on Coulson's face though, they might have been thinking the same thing.

It was Coulson who had turned Quinn on to the collectibles surrounding Captain America, building on her desire to learn about him in a historical context, thanks to the journals her great-grandfather, Colonel Chester Phillips, had left behind. Coulson collected Captain America trading cards and Quinn was focused on the comics about his adventures. She also had a couple other assorted things—digitized versions of his films included—but the comics were her favourite. But their admiration for Captain America had been one of the things responsible for giving Quinn and Coulson their close relationship and now that SHIELD had managed to locate the man himself…

Quinn drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she smiled again.

Exciting things were certainly in store.

"How come you're not up there, Boss?" Quinn asked suddenly. She knew there was no other place Coulson would rather have been. There was no place she would have rather been.

"You heard about the Level 8 mission in the Arctic from Natasha and Clint, I assume?" he asked, his eyes not moving from the screen; Quinn's weren't either.

"Yeah—science personnel only."

"There's your answer."

Her eyes did dart form the screen then. "What? Fury wouldn't even let you go to oversee? He knows how much this would—you stayed because of me, didn't you." It wasn't a question.

Coulson met her gaze, a small grimace on his lips. "It's not recommended you fly anywhere if it'll take longer than a couple hours—"

"Hell, Coulson, you should have been there so you could tell me what it was like."

"I'm sorry, kid." His eyes darted back to the screen and then back, brightening as they found her again. "I do have some good news for you, though."

"Better than finding Captain America?"

Coulson smiled. "Connected to finding Captain America."

Those butterflies were back. Quinn pushed herself upright. "What is it?"

"I got you assigned to him." Quinn's eyes widened in confusion, but before she could ask what he meant, Coulson elaborated. "They're sending him here to defrost, and someone needs to keep an eye on him and the equipment. Fury wants to move him to a room set up to look like the 40s for when he wakes up—something about lessening the shock."

"I've been assigned to Captain America?" Quinn asked, her voice betraying the shock and confusion she was still feeling.

"You're also in charge of getting the room ready, but that shouldn't be too hard…"

Coulson might have continued speaking, but Quinn's mind had kicked into overdrive and, with her thoughts turning and her eyes on the video feed from the arctic, she didn't hear a word.

Coulson had got her assigned to Captain America and Directory Fury had approved it… After New Mexico, Quinn had been afraid the director would keep her on the edge of the Avengers Initiative, but this… A smile spread across Quinn's face, the expression bringing an end to whatever Coulson was saying. His eyes lit up.

"Thanks Boss," Quinn said. "Thank you."

He reached across the desk to squeeze her arm. "No problem, kid."

Without another word between them, they turned their attention back to the computer screen and watched the discovery of the century in action.

* * *

_April 15th, 2012  
_ _New York City, New York—SHIELD HQ_

"Quinn, you need to take a break."

She flapped her hand in an attempt to get Mike Vaughn, her physical therapist, to back off. He'd been bugging her to take a break for the last thirty minutes, but there was too much to get done. "I will in a bit, Mike, but this room is _not_ going to build itself and they're bringing Captain America here tomorrow."

"I understand that, but you are limping worse than I've seen you since Mr. Stark gave you that brace. Do you want to risk undoing all the progress you've made?"

Quinn huffed loudly and turned to face Mike, coming to a stop for the first time in about three hours. Pain immediately shot through her leg and lower back and she fought to hide her wince. After months of intense physical therapy sessions together though, Mike saw it. He raised his eyebrows. Quinn sighed, her shoulders dropping, and limped to a chair in the corner of the room—the one she'd be sitting in while observing the Captain.

"Happy?" she asked, dropping her tablet into her lap and crossing her arms.

Mike handed her a bottle of water and perched on the arm of the chair. "Relatively so, yes. I'd be happier if you delegated this to someone else and took an actual break, but I know better than to argue."

"About work, yes, you do."

"Quinn—"

"Relax, Mike," she said, draining half the bottle of water in a few large swallows. "And tell me how things have been with you? It's been almost three weeks since I saw you."

The big man sighed and crossed his tattoo-covered arms loosely. Since Quinn had returned to work with the brace Tony Stark had designed for her, Mike had been coming to check on her and to run sessions less and less—as was the nature of his job—but Quinn had found she missed her physical therapist. The idle chatting he'd kept up during their sessions to keep her distracted from her pain meant they'd gotten to know each other pretty well.

"Sydney's finally settled on a venue and colours for the wedding," he said. The tone of his voice told Quinn he would much rather be lecturing her about the importance of pacing herself.

"Did she go with purple and silver?" Quinn asked. "Hey, Smythe, we can't have that alarm clock in here," she said with a wave at one of the agents placing the final props in the room.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Yes, though she went with a darker purple than she originally talked about. Apparently, anyway. I can't really tell the difference between the two shades, but I told her to do whatever would make her happy and I'll be sure to show up."

"Having met Sydney, I can confirm that was a wise choice." Quinn emptied the bottle of water. Mike's fiancée was a beautiful and determined woman, who never settled and rarely compromised on what was important. Quinn didn't have much experience with relationships, but she was pretty sure Mike and Sydney were a perfect match. "I'm sure it'll be a beautiful wedding. She's got impeccable taste."

"Indeed she does." Mike smiled. "How's the _Star Trek_ rewatch going?"

"Great—Hey! Why can I see the wall around the picture of New York?" Quinn yelled, pushing herself out of the chair and marching out of the room. "Move it closer! He'll pick out any mistake. Fury wants this perfect so he has time to adjust—"

"Quinn."

She jumped when Mike appeared at her shoulder. "Fucking hell—you scared me."

"You have _got_ to sit down for more than two minutes."

"Someone has to keep an eye on these—"

"Tell me what to do and who to yell at and I'll make sure it gets done," Mike said, resigned.

"Uh… thanks."

Quinn limped back to her chair and dropped heavily into it. As much as she wanted to keep working and as much as she was loathe to admit it, she was in a lot of pain and Mike was right. She should sit down. For as long as possible. She would follow Mike's instructions for as long as he was there to reinforce them, but as soon as he went home, she would be back on her feet, making sure every detail of the room was perfect.

She didn't want to mess up her chance to impress Fury, and to prove to him that she could handle whatever he gave her, regardless of how unlike anything she'd done before it was.

"Agent Scott?" a very young-looking agent asked, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

"Yeah?"

"Did we want the baseball game playing on the radio when he wakes up or not?"

"Did you find one from 1945?" The agent nodded, but Quinn didn't trust the overeager glint in her eye. "Are you sure it's from 1945?"

"It was in the database as a World Series game from 1945."

"Double check the teams playing before you put it in place, but if it is actually from 1945, then I want it playing." The agent nodded and scurried away.

Mike shook his head. "You're restless. You get mean when you're restless."

Quinn looked up at him. "This is important. It has to be perfect."

Mike rolled his eyes, but when Quinn gave him instructions, he followed them. As long as she stayed seated.

* * *

Despite how much she tried to talk herself into staying in her office, Quinn was back down in the 1940s room at the end of the day, double and triple checking everything. Her leg hadn't stopped throbbing all day, despite Mike all but strapping her into the chair, and her head had joined in the pain, thumping in time with her heartbeat. She was tired and hungry and wanted to go home, but more than that… More than all of that, the room had to be perfect.

It was late when she finally made it home, but even then, she couldn't sleep. Quinn lay in bed and stared at the wall opposite where her favourite Captain America comics were framed and hanging. On a shelf below them, sat the other comics, a couple action figures, and the shield replica Coulson had given her for Christmas one year. Her mind reeled through what she would be doing tomorrow. The butterflies she'd felt when first taking that black folder from Trish's hands were back, swarming in her gut.

Eventually, after she forced her eyes to close and stay closed, Quinn did fall asleep. But then she dreamt.

She was back inside the metal hall, snow blowing around her on an icy wind, but now the metal hall looked like the plane they'd found Captain America in, and the feeling that had plagued her before—the desire to find something—was gone. Replaced by the desire to reach Captain America; she could see him standing at the other side of the plane, dressed in his red, white, and blue uniform, his shield shining on his arm. His eyes locked onto hers across the distance and she was riveted to the spot.

But she needed to get to him.

Quinn pushed herself through the snow, her head tilted against the wind, her hair blowing around her in dark brown tangles. Her muscles began to ache, her eyes were watering, her nose running. A few steps away from Captain America, the ice beneath her cracked, the sound like a gunshot.

A great chunk of ice lifted up, blocking Captain America from her line of sight, and sending Quinn tumbling backward to land in the cold water lapping beneath her.

She woke up on the floor, her blankets tangled around her legs, her body covered with sweat and her breathing laboured.

After getting her bearings again, Quinn huffed and lay back on the floor, arms spread to either side, eyes on the orange night out her window.

* * *

_April 16th, 2012  
_ _New York City, New York—SHIELD HQ_

"I don't understand why I can't tell Peggy," Quinn said, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she supressed a yawn.

Coulson looked down at her. They were standing on the helipad on top of the building, waiting for the helicopter carrying the body of Captain America to land; at last report, it was ten minutes out. "You do understand," he said. "If something goes wrong and he doesn't wake up, or—"

Quinn raised her hand, cutting her boss off. "Of course I get it, Boss. I just… It feels wrong, not telling her. If anyone should know about this, it's Peggy Carter." The wind picked up and Quinn pushed the hair back from her face. "I was thinking about it all yesterday, as I was getting the room set up—which, by the way, was more difficult than it should be have been, thanks to that useless intern who kept questioning my research." Quinn huffed as Coulson chuckled. "I was never that bad," she stated, guessing the nature of Coulson's amusement.

"You were pretty bad. Questions about everything. Always thought you knew best."

"I did _not_."

Coulson bumped his arm against Quinn's. "Relax, kid. You got the room done, Captain America is on his way here, and soon, we'll have our idol here in the flesh…" His eyes took on the maniacal gleam they sometimes did when Steve Rogers came up in conversation, and Quinn shook her head. "I'll be cool."

"Sure you will, Boss."

"I will." He nudged Quinn again. "And you can tell Peggy when we're sure everything is okay, and when the Captain wants to. It should be up to him, I think."

"You're right."

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" he asked when Quinn fought and lost to another yawn.

She shrugged. "I was here late, then had a weird dream. Fell out of bed. Couldn't get back to sleep. I've got lots of coffee in me though—I'll be fine."

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "How's your leg?"

"Did Mike talk to you?" she asked, tense. Coulson shook his head, confusion in his eyes. She huffed. "My leg is fine."

"Whatever you say…"

Quinn didn't think she'd heard the last of it, but she averted her gaze from Agent Coulson and focused on the sky above.

They stood in silence for a moment or two before the air filled with the noise of the approaching helicopter. Quinn bounced a few times on the balls of her feet, her tablet clutched tightly in her hands. Coulson was smiling, his arms crossed over his chest as his suit jacket flapped madly in the downdraft. Quinn gathered her hair in one hand and held it as much in place as she could; strands still whipped around, no doubt tangling themselves into an impressive knot. But then, the helicopter landed and the rotors stopped turning, allowing Quinn and Coulson to approach the bird and help the doctors on board unload Steve Rogers.

Only when they were in the elevator and headed down to the proper floor did Quinn allow herself to indulge in looking at the Captain. He was strapped tightly to the stretcher, his arms at his sides; one of the doctors had given the shield to Coulson to hold, and the older SHIELD agent was staring at it in his hands like it held all the secrets of the universe. Quinn looked at Captain Rogers much the same way, though she did her best to school her expression. He looked bigger than she'd expected, even lying there peacefully. She might have thought he was just asleep, except that his skin still held the faintest tinge of blue, and any movement to his chest or eyes was so minimal, Quinn couldn't see it.

She stood back as the doctors got Steve set up in the medical observation room he'd be in while he finished defrosting. They hooked monitors up to him and set up heat lamps to bathe him in light and heat. He was covered in a warming blanket that would have to be changed every half hour. The doctors would have given him an IV with warm saline solution, but they weren't sure how that would react; the SSR files on Captain America were woefully incomplete by modern standards.

"You don't look nearly as excited as I thought you would," Coulson said, coming to stand in front of her and effectively cutting off her view of the room.

"I was just thinking it might be easier to tell Captain Rogers the truth. He might not take too kindly to the whole 1940s façade," she said, gesturing toward the room where he'd be moved when he was normal temperature again.

"You may be right, but this is what the Director wants."

"I know."

Quinn stepped around Coulson when the doctors signalled for her and moved to join them so they could give her the rundown on what to watch for. There would be an actual doctor stopping by at least once an hour, but with the high-profile nature of the patient—and, Quinn suspected, since she wasn't doing anything else important—Fury wanted someone in the room at all times. If Steve Rogers awoke earlier or later than expected, it would be good to have a pair of eyes there to see it. Or, if something went wrong.

Eventually, the doctors left to check on their other patients, and Quinn and Coulson were left, standing on either side of the hospital bed, staring down at Captain America. And then, when it became clear neither of them was going to say anything more, Coulson left and Quinn was alone, wondering what the frozen hero would be like when he woke up.


	2. Chapter 2

_April 16th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD HQ_

Quinn had brought stuff to do while she was monitoring Steve Rogers—old files to digitize on her laptop, a bunch of Coulson's notes that needed to be transcribed into digital documents and added to their respective case files, a novel she'd been itching to finish—but she found it hard to tear her gaze away from the frozen hero and had done precisely none of it. She'd expected to grow quickly bored, just sitting there. But Steve Rogers was endlessly fascinating apparently.

Maybe she should have suspected that.

She'd be in nearly the same position in her chair—with her arms draped over her stomach and her bad leg propped up on the edge of a small metal footstool—for hours, taking only a small break when she'd headed out in search of food and a washroom while one of the doctors was with Captain America. Quinn didn't want to be away from the room for long.

She just couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she was looking at Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. A man everyone assumed had died saving the world. A man so many idolized.

It should have been impossible for him to be there. But there he was, the beeping of the monitors telling her he was alive and warming up and may open his eyes at any time.

He still wasn't moving though. There was no outward sign of life. Just the beeping.

She'd spent her time watching him alternating between feeling like a creep and being in awe of her hero, her thoughts pinging around ceaselessly and without direction—what would Peggy say when she found out he was alive? What would her great-grandfather have done if he'd been here to see this? What would Howard Stark have done? What would Steve do once he awoke? If he awoke and was fine? Why was he so good looking? Was it creepy to think that? Would he be okay once he woke up? She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to wake up so far in the future, away from everything and everyone you knew.

Quinn could admit to herself that she was a little afraid the whole thing was going to go horribly wrong, but she found some solace in the miracle of his discovery. If he could survive everything he had, why couldn't he wake up and be fine?

At about six o'clock, her leg started to ache, so she pushed herself out of the chair and began a slow circuit of the room, being careful of all the cords and tubes and wires connected to the medical equipment. The ever-present buzz of the faint electrical current in her brace hummed through her limb; she barely felt it anymore, but sometimes it still came to the forefront. She brushed her fingers along the top edge of the brace as she walked. It was on her third lap that Coulson came to the door.

"Shift's done, kid."

"I know. I'm gonna stay for a bit yet."

Coulson walked into the room and put a paper bag and a take-out cup on the little table holding Quinn's laptop, novel, and the stack of files. Immediately, the tantalizing scent of fries and a burger wafted into the air. "I figured as much. Stopped by Smokey's and got your favourite."

Quinn beamed at Coulson, just as her stomach grumbled. "You have impeccable timing, Boss." She crossed the room and dropped back into her chair, her leg protesting only mildly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Coulson crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall beside the door. "Are you sure you want to stay? I'm sure someone else could take over for a few hours, and the doctors will still be checking over night." The look on the older man's face told Quinn he knew it was fruitless, but he cared about her, and, as always, she was warmed by it.

"It doesn't mean the same thing to anyone else," she said. Her tawny eyes drifted back over the form of Captain America, taking in the pinker tone of his skin; he really did just look asleep now. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

Coulson's hand came to rest on the back of Quinn's head. "Just try and get some sleep. And call me when he wakes up."

She smiled up at him, scrunching up her face as she did so. "Will do."

Quinn was a little surprised that Coulson had decided not to stay himself, but he was supposed to be heading out to meet Clint and Natasha somewhere the next morning and probably wanted whatever extra sleep he could get; she was a little jealous of his field duty status, but, she reminded herself, she was back at work and that was more than a lot of people—including herself a lot of the time—had expected. She settled back into her chair and dug into her meal: bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. Comfort food at its finest in her opinion.

"I'll have to take you for burgers," she mumbled as she ate, directing the question at Captain America's prone form. She paused in chewing. _What a weird impulse. Talking to an unconscious man I don't even know. Oh well. Might as well go with it._ "And let you read Colonel Philip's journals. I bet you'd be surprised by those."

After she ate, Quinn opened her laptop and began to actually get some work done, not even pausing when the doctor asked her for her update when he came to visit. She wanted to have work to show for her time on light duty—anything that would move her back to active duty faster. Anything that would get her back out in the field, working with Coulson on the Avengers Initiative.

Several hours later, around midnight, Quinn fell asleep in the chair with her novel spread on her thigh. She didn't hear the change in beeping from the monitors or see the first breath Steve drew as his body warmed and he began to come out of the hibernation.

* * *

_April 17th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD HQ_

She was awoken when someone bumped her bad leg.

Quinn jerked out of the chair with a strangled cry, prepared to curse out whoever had been inconsiderate enough to hit her braced limb. But when the fog of sleep cleared and she saw doctors and technicians hovering around Steve Roger's body, preparing him for transport, the pain vanished. Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, Quinn moved to stand against the wall, out of the way, eyes wide with wonder. She knew where they were taking him so she didn't need to be in the way.

As the doctors wheeled Captain America out of the room, Quinn fell in line behind them, her eyes on Steve's still-slumbering face. She was limping slightly as they moved down the hall toward the elevator, but her mind wasn't on her leg or the pain. Steve Rogers was waking up.

The 1940s-style room was essentially a small box inside a larger box. Quinn's eyes darted around as she entered, checking for perhaps the hundredth time that the details were correct. Granted, her faculties might not have been in the best place at that moment, but she couldn't help looking again; she wanted everything to be perfect. It looked as good as she remembered, so she turned her attention back to Captain America and watched—feeling useless—as he was lifted onto the waiting bed. The nurses who were assisting the doctors assigned to Steve had dressed the Captain in a pair of beige pants and an SSR t-shirt that barely fit. He was wearing boots, which Quinn thought was a weird touch.

"Is there anything I should know or look out for?" Quinn asked the closest doctor as he headed for the door.

The man looked fairly young, with just a touch a grey hair at his temples. His eyes were bright though, and he gave Quinn an easy smile. "He's back to normal, for him," he said. "So it's just a matter of time." Something seemed to occur to the doctor then and he added, "Sorry if I bumped your leg earlier."

Quinn waved it off. "It's okay, doc. I'm made of sturdier stuff than I appear."

The doctor gave her another smile and then left the 1940s room. Quinn left the room after another look at Captain America and headed for the nearest desk. She radioed the agent she'd chosen to be the face of the 1940s façade—Agent Fallon, relatively new to SHIELD—and told her to change and get ready; with her futuristic brace, Quinn couldn't do it herself, though she would have given almost anything to be able to.

Then, it was time to wait.

Quinn took up a position outside the 1940s room, watching the security camera feed on her tablet in her hand. She cast a look at the other agents waiting—Agent Fallon in her SSR uniform, and the armoured agents ready to act if something went awry—and then went back to studying Captain America. She saw the moment he came back to consciousness, his body tensing subtly. His eyes fluttered opened and he began to look around, taking in the unexpected surroundings. Quinn signalled Agent Fallon and the younger agent entered the room, high heels clicking on the fake tile floor, and began to converse with Steve.

Steve tensed again, his voice becoming agitated.

Something was wrong.

Quinn picked up on it a second before Steve said it—the baseball game. It was from the wrong year.

"I should have checked it again," she muttered, taking a step toward the door.

But then Steve was running, out of the room, past the agents—past her, nearly knocking her over—and out of the building. And he moved _fast_.

Leg on fire from having to catch her weight, Quinn started after him before realizing that she wouldn't be able to do anything. She couldn't run, and even if she could have, there was no way she'd be able to catch up to Captain America, even if he wasn't running at his top speed. So she moved into the 1940s room and took a seat on the edge of the bed to wait. They'd bring him back here.

If they caught him.

"Fuck."

" _Agent Scott."_

Quinn closed her at eyes at the sound of Director Fury's voice crackling over the radio and cursed again, sagging a bit. She pressed the button on the radio to connect. "Yes, Director?"

" _We've got Captain Rogers. We're on our way back. Get everything ready."_

"Yes Director."

" _And Scott? You're not in trouble."_

She sighed in relief and resisted the urge to flop backward on the bed. It wasn't a terribly comfortable bed, but Quinn suddenly felt exhausted and knew she'd fall asleep regardless. With a huff, she pushed herself to her feet and took a seat in the chair against the wall. It was rigid enough to keep her awake. And, thankfully, she didn't have to wait terribly long for the director to appear with Captain Rogers in tow.

"Captain Rogers, this is Agent Quinn Scott," Director Fury said as they entered the room. Quinn took a deep breath and rose painfully to her feet once more. She barely contained her wince. "She's your handler and your first point of contact with SHIELD."

Steve took her extended hand and shook it, but Quinn could tell by the bunched muscle in his jaw that he was not in a friendly mood. She couldn't exactly blame him for that.

Steve watched Director Fury leave the room and shut the door. Then he turned his eyes to Quinn.

She cleared her throat when it became clear he wasn't going to speak. "All of that couldn't have been easy to hear," Quinn said as she made her way back to the chair. She couldn't stop the groan.

Some of the hostility in Steve's face vanished at that noise and he took a half-step towards her, his hands hovering like he'd help her. "No," he said when she was seated. "No, it wasn't." He dropped heavily onto the bed and clasped his hands, bracing his elbows on his knees. The tension was still riding his shoulders. "Are you okay, Agent Scott?"

Quinn leaned back and rapped her knuckles against the top of her brace. "Old injury. Someone bumped into it this morning, so it's acting up."

Steve straightened and gestured at the bed beside him. Quinn gave a small smile and propped her leg up on the bed, rubbing her thigh as she did. The pain would pass and she was mostly used to it now, but when it flared up… "How did it happen? If you don't mind…"

"I don't." If Steve didn't want to talk about himself, that was fine. Quinn would indulge him. She had time. "I was on assignment in New Mexico last year. There was a battle and, well, a build essentially fell on me."

His eyes widened. They were quite blue. "A building fell on you?"

"Yeah... Battle between super-beings. I was doing recon from a building that got hit, and it collapsed as I was making my way down the stairs. I wasn't fast enough. Got pinned by some rubble that nearly crushed my leg. It was the worst of my injuries and got me stuck with this—" Quinn touched the brace again "—and got me stuck on light duty, doing paper work and watching over frozen national heroes…" She grinned. Quinn was rewarded with a small. A genuine smile. Her grin warmed.

Steve relaxed further, seemingly put at ease by Quinn's demeanour; maybe that was why Fury had wanted her assigned. He studied her for a few seconds. "You look… familiar somehow."

"Well, I've been by your side since they brought you here, but I'm guessing it's because you knew my great-grandfather."

Steve's eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. Quinn knew what he was seeing—the faint hints in her appearance connecting her to Colonel Phillips: square jaw, same mouth, similar brow… "Colonel Phillips," Steve said after a moment, a note of wonder in his voice. "That's… Is that why you were chosen to be my handler?" There was something like anger in his voice, but he forced it back.

"I imagine that, and the light duty, would be the reason why, yeah. And, well…" Quinn felt the blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks, tried not to think about it. She scrunched up her nose. "I'm a fan of yours."

A burst of surprised laughter escaped from Steve's lips. "That's something I'll have to get used to hearing again, I suppose."

"Sorry to burst your bubble Cap," she said without thinking, "but it probably won't be as common as you think."

He laughed again. "Cap?" One of his eyebrows lifted.

Quinn's cheeks darkened. She decided not to respond. "Look, Captain Rogers," she said, clearing her throat. "I know you're not happy about having a handler, but I'm here to help you adjust to the twenty-first century more than anything, and I'll answer any questions you have. Get your whatever information you need." She met his gaze and she was calm, serious. "I know this situation is not what you were expecting, if you were expecting anything. I can't promise things will be easy, but I can promise that I won't lie to you and I will do what I can to make this… transition easier on you."

Steve's cheeks reddened a bit at the honesty in her voice. Quinn hadn't intended to say all of that at that moment, but she found her mind wasn't working quite as smoothly as it usually did. For a moment, they just looked at each other, Steve taken the measure of the small SHIELD agent before him and Quinn forcing herself to appear steady in the face of her hero.

"So, Agent Scott, what happens next?"

"Well, you have to talk to a shrink—I know, but it's SHIELD's policy—and they want the doctors to have one more look at you before they let you out into the world. After your attempted escape though, I'm sure you're fine. After you've for the all clear, we'll head to my apartment building where SHIELD has purchased the empty apartment across from mine for your use."

"They really don't want me far from your sight, do they?"

Quinn shrugged. It was the truth. "After that… Well, that's up to you, really. If you want to hang around New York and get to know the city as it is now, that's cool, or if you want to stay in the apartment, that's cool too."

"I… I think I just need to take this one step at a time for now."

"I understand that, Captain." There was a knock at the door and Quinn got to her feet, doing her best to minimize her limp as she went to answer it. She was glad to find the psychologist assigned to Steve was Dr. Yagiri, a middle-aged Japanese woman who was wicked smart and took no shit from any of her patients. She'd whipped Quinn into shape more than once during her recovery, and the grin they shared when Quinn opened the door was one of friendship more than anything else. "Captain Rogers, this is Dr. Yagiri, SHIELD's best psychologist. Dr. Yagiri, this is Captain Steve Rogers." Quinn watched as they shook hands, Steve rising from the bed to shake the doctor's hand. "The doctor will be back to check his vitals soon, and I'll be in my office. Just call or come up when you're done."

Quinn flashed Steve a quick smile and then left the 1940s room, exhaling slowly as she shut the door.

* * *

_April 18th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Steve's Apartment_

"It's…"

"Boring? Empty?"

Steve looked at Quinn over his shoulder, one corner of his mouth twitching up. He was much more relaxed now that they'd left SHIELD. The early-morning ride across the short distance between SHIELD HQ and Quinn's building had passed in silence, Steve staring out the car window at the skyscrapers and never-ending crowds of people. Quinn tried not to watch him watch the world, but she failed miserably; she wasn't stupid enough to think he didn't notice her attention. Neither of them said anything about it.

"It's…" Steve turned back to the apartment, taking in the few pieces of furniture SHIELD had supplied. There was a plant near one window, and a few boxes of files stacked near the kitchen table, but no other flourishes. "Yeah, it's boring and empty."

Quinn chuckled. "We can grab stuff as you find you need it. SHIELD doesn't ever think about stuff like this beyond the bare necessities."

"And those?" Steve asked, gesturing at the files.

"That's my doing. I figured you might want to read about the SSR and SHIELD. Start to get a handle on what you missed while you were stuck in the ice." Her eyes dropped to the floor as she found herself unable to meet Steve's gaze. "I'm sorry if—"

"It's fine." Steve's voice was a little hard, but he didn't seem particularly angry; at least, not at Quinn. "I have missed a lot, by the looks of things. I appreciate you thinking of that, Agent Scott." He cleared his throat, slipped his hands into the pockets of the jacket SHIELD had given him. "So you're directly across the hall?"

Quinn nodded, once again sensing the need for a subject change. The doctors who'd looked Steve over the day before had decided to keep him overnight, just in case, and Steve hadn't been particularly happy about being cooped up. Though, without anywhere else to go, he'd had little choice. Quinn had slept on the couch in Coulson's office after calling her boss to tell him everything that had transpired. She gathered that Steve wanted to keep moving today; he certainly didn't seem eager to sit and chat. She crossed the hall and unlocked her door, leaving it open as she headed down the hall. Steve followed a second later and she turned to find him with his head on a swivel, taking in everything he could see.

That included her collection of Captain America merchandise.

"I told you I was a fan," she said when he crossed the room to stand in front of the shelf.

He looked at her, amusement plain on his face; she was glad to have put it there. "You did. It's… strange to see this stuff now, on the other side of everything." He lifted one hand and ran his fingers along the edge of one of the two framed posters.

"I can't even imagine what it feels like."

Steve turned his back on the Captain America merchandise and crossed the room to the window. Quinn leaned on the wall beside him. "I don't even know where to start with… everything."

"That's what I'm here for. Well, what I can be here for."

Steve looked down at Quinn. There was nearly a foot of difference between their heights, but it didn't make Quinn feel small, where it might if it was any other man. "Well, what do you suggest Agent Scott?"

"First, Captain Rogers, if we're going to be spending any amount of time together, you're going to have to call me Quinn. Second, I suggest we spend today shopping, because you are going to want some new clothes, and I'm assuming you'll want to eat. The stuff SHIELD put in your fridge might not be to your liking. And you might want some books or something—I mean, you are certainly welcome to borrow anything of mine." Quinn paused to gesture at her well-stocked bookshelf. "Third, I might have an idea of somewhere you can go if you want to take some time before jumping into the twenty-first century. But first, shopping."

"Shopping."

"Yeah, I hate it too, but sometimes, it has to be done."

Steve laughed.


	3. Chapter 3

_April 19th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's Apartment_

Quinn's alarm woke her out of a deep sleep. She started, her arm twitching violently and sending the pillow she'd been clutching flying to knock her alarm clock and lamp off the bedside table. The crash was loud.

"Fucking hell," Quinn grumbled, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

Someone knocked on her door, but the knocks were almost… tentative.

"Who is it?" she called. It was six in the morning. Who the hell was knocking on her door? Continuing to grumble, Quinn limped down the hall, peered through the peep hole. Captain America was standing in the hall, already up and dressed, and looking a little worried and unsure. "Steve?" He'd said yesterday if he was to call her Quinn, she should call him Steve. She opened the door.

He took in the t-shirt and plaid shorts that made up her pyjamas with a quick glance. Quinn knew he was seeing the scars on her left leg and, had she been more awake, she might have been self-conscious about it; no one outside her family and Coulson had seen the scars. "I heard a crash."

Quinn blinked a few times as her brain caught up. "Oh, that. I, uh, knocked some stuff off the bedside table when I woke up. I'm not really a morning person." She stepped away from the door, running her fingers through her hair. "You can come in if you want. I'll go get dressed." She still felt half-asleep, and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, but there was work, of a sort, to be done.

She heard Steve come in and shut the door. As she pulled on jeans and a purple long-sleeved shirt, she heard him in the kitchen, grinding coffee beans. Smiling to herself, Quinn fastened her brace in place, the familiar buzz filling her body, and brushed the knots out of her hair, braiding it quickly back into its usual long plait. Bare foot, Quinn entered the kitchen to find coffee in her French press and bread in the toaster. Steve was in front of the window, arms crossed as he stared out at New York, waking up beneath them.

Another smile danced across her features as she took in Steve's clothes. He'd purchased things that made him comfortable, as he well should, but they were much older in style than fit his youthful appearance. If she'd known him a little better and felt a bit more comfortable around him, she would have jokingly called him Grandpa.

"Thanks for the coffee," she said, barely keeping the jibe to herself as she poured herself a mug.

"You're welcome, Ag—Quinn." He gave her a small smile. His eyes darted briefly to her leg. Quinn barely caught it.

"You can ask me whatever you want about my leg," she said as she took a sip.

His cheeks flushed a bit at being caught looking, but he cleared his throat, and asked, "Are you in pain? Those scars looked…"

"Bad, I know." Quinn hopped up onto one of the mismatched stools at the island and placed her hand on her thigh, over a particularly bad spot of scar tissue. "They hurt sometimes, but I'm not sure if it's real or phantom pain. It's not enough to stop me from moving around though. I spent far too long stuck in a hospital bed to let anything less than agonizing keep me down." Quinn took another drink of her coffee and smiled at Steve. "But enough about that. Did you think over my suggestion?"

"The cabin in the middle of nowhere actually sounds great, but…"

"The measures SHIELD installed are just for emergencies. Since it was built for Dr. Banner—did you read the file? Good—SHIELD wanted to have some way to check up on him when he was here. The feeds are unmonitored usually and, while you're there, I'll be the only one with access to them." Quinn finished her coffee. Steve brewed it quite nearly perfect. "You good at pretending you're comfortable, Steve, but I can still see the tension in your shoulders and none of this can be easy to process, especially not in downtown New York."

He frowned a bit, maybe surprised or caught off guard by her observational skills. "You're right."

"I know I am," she said with a smirk. "You don't have to go to the cabin, Steve, but it'll give you a chance to really dig into those files and to adjust at more of your own speed. If you want to go, just let me know. I'll take you out there myself."

Steve stared at her for a few heartbeats. At first, Quinn thought he was annoyed or angry, but then a small smile passed over his lips and he laughed, though Quinn wasn't sure what he was laughing at. "You aren't like any other government agent I've dealt with."

"I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment."

"That was how it was intended."

Quinn grinned at Steve and went to get herself another cup of coffee.

* * *

Several hours later, just after noon, Quinn led Steve into the small hanger that serviced the downtown SHIELD headquarters. It had taken all of the favour Quinn had curried with Directory Fury and a few words from Coulson to allow Quinn to take Captain America out from under SHIELD's watchful eye, but it was good to know that Fury still had enough faith in Quinn to allow her this. Of course, it was likely he was just doing it because it was good for Steve, but hey, she would take what she could get. She climbed into the pilot's seat of the quinjet they'd been given permission to use as Steve buckled himself in to one of the passenger seats, his bag, and Quinn's, beside him.

In a move that had surprised Quinn, Steve had asked if she would stay at the cabin with him. It was certainly big enough for two people, and big enough for those two people to only interact if they really wanted to, but she had assumed Steve would want the whole place and the surrounding wilderness to himself. When she'd asked him why he wanted her to stay, he'd just shrugged and said he didn't want to be alone. Quinn understood the desire. She imagined it was something similar to what she'd felt when she'd been stuck in the hospital: surrounded by people but still alone, left to your own sometimes scary thoughts. It wasn't fun. She could do her light duty work from the cabin, anyway.

Steve remained quiet while Quinn ran the final checks and as the techs opened the ceiling; couldn't very well have a runway in the middle of the city. The quinjet thrummed beneath them and Quinn sighed heavily, enjoying the feeling. It had been a long time since she'd flown, a long time since she'd been out of the office. A smile spread across her face, her fingers sliding over the controls before she grabbed them and, upon receiving the signal from the techs, turned the engines down and took off.

When they were in the air and no long above the city, Quinn keyed in the autopilot to the cabin's coordinates, and unbuckled. She moved to the back and sat down beside Steve.

"The plane flies itself," he said, some wonder in his voice.

"I believe we have the Starks to thank for that technology." She moved her bag beneath her bad leg so she could prop it up. "I miss being in the cockpit, but there is not enough leg room for me to be comfortable, unfortunately." She winced and rubbed the spasm out of her thigh.

"You like flying?"

"Love it," Quinn answered with a grin. "It was something I picked up after I graduated from the Academy." She opened her mouth to continue, but stopped herself. It had been Peggy Carter who had encouraged Quinn to follow her desires and learn how to pilot the quinjets, to learn how to throw knives, to learn anything else that wasn't taught in the main curriculum at the Academy. Quinn wasn't sure how to talk about Peggy with Steve. "Did you ever fly? I mean, before the _Valkyrie_ ," she added, her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry if that was insensitive."

"It's fine. But it's weird having you know so much about me," Steve admitted. He ran a hand back through his hair. "I… did a little flying, as I'm sure you know."

Quinn didn't like the frustration in Steve's voice, but she understood it. She really didn't like that she'd put it there. "Contrary to the impression I may have given, I don't know everything about your service with the SSR. But, I did think about the imbalance. So," she leaned forward and withdrew a file, along with Colonel Phillips's journal, from a pocket on her bag, "I brought these for you to read. That is my SHIELD personnel file and the journal my great-grandfather kept during his association with you."

Steve took the offering. "I… didn't know he kept journals."

"Not many did. I found them by accident. I have more, if you'd like to read them. They start from just before the war and go until he died."

"I might. Uhm… thank you, Quinn."

"No problem, Cap."

She caught his smile at the nickname, but pretended she hadn't.

* * *

Quinn landed the quinjet in the open space between the cabin and the edge of the forest. The day was overcast, but there wasn't much wind, which made landing smooth. "Are you sure you want me to stay?" she asked as she keyed in the autopilot for the jet to return to New York; it might be needed by another agent. "You sure you don't want some time alone out here?" Quinn looked at the scenery around them. It was beautiful, the world just starting to come to life, to turn green again. Trees, a lake, open space…

She felt Steve's eyes on her a moment before he spoke. "Yes, I'm sure."

She smiled at him and followed him off the plane after starting the plane and the autopilot sequence. He had already taken their bags and supplies down and placed them by the door. They watched the quinjet take off and head back to New York. "Well," Quinn said, "you're stuck with me now in any case." She unlocked the cabin door and swung her bag onto her shoulder, leading the way inside.

* * *

_April 20th, 2012  
_ _Undisclosed Location—The Retreat_

It was 2:00am when Quinn awoke for no apparent reason. The moonlight was reflecting off the lake outside her window and, even inside, she could see more stars in the sky than were ever visible in the city. She sighed, content in the cocoon of warmth the quilts created. So content, in fact, that she almost fell back asleep. However, she wouldn't have awoken without reason, and now that she was up, she had to pee. Quinn groaned as she righted herself, her feet and ankles popping as they took her weight.

After exiting the bathroom, she discovered the reason. Or, what she assumed was the reason. Steve was sitting in front of the fire, a file spread open on his lap. He'd brought some of the files Quinn had pulled out of storage for him, but something told her he was reading her file.

"Hey," she said, not wanting to startle him by just approaching. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept," Steve said, looking up at her. He nodded when she gestured at the couch and watched her lower herself slowly down, her bad leg stretched out before her. "I haven't slept through the night since Project Rebirth. Not counting the seventy years in the ice, of course."

"Of course." Quinn's grin turned into a yawn and she settled a little deeper into the couch. Her eyes dropped to her scars; the firelight made them look so much worse. She tugged a blanket into her lap, covering her legs. "This couch is really uncomfortable."

Steve chuckled. "I don't think anyone has been her for quite some time." He lifted the file from his lap. "You were in pretty rough shape last year."

Quinn nodded absently. She knew what the photos attached to her hospital chart looked like. She'd been broken, bloody, swollen, bruised, dirty… She'd barely looked human when she'd been admitted. The progress shots of her leg weren't much better. But that report wasn't the only one in the file. There were no detailed mission reports—Steve technically had no clearance yet—but Quinn's Academy admission reports were there, her psych evaluations, her commendations, every time she'd been disciplined… Basically, it was her entire life at SHIELD and a bit of her background. It put her and Steve on even footing.

It would also tell Steve that Quinn had worked with Peggy Carter, but she would let him broach that topic.

"I was," she finally replied. "I couldn't move my legs for the first while. Thought I'd never walk again. I probably won't ever be back to where I started." She looked up, met Steve's gaze. "But Tony Stark made this brace for me and it's done wonders."

"Will you ever be able to go without it?"

She shrugged. "I take it off when I'm at home sometimes, and my physical therapist has me walk around without it when I'm with him so he can gauge my progress. It's hard to say, but maybe? Provided I don't mess it up."

"Is that likely?"

"Knowing me as well as I do… yes."

"You don't seem suited for light duty work."

"I'm not, but I'm happy to have this much. As you've probably guessed from my file, it was a close call before the mission in New Mexico."

"Well, if these files are telling the truth, you picked up those traits from… from Peggy."

Quinn closed her eyes at the hurt in Steve's voice. She felt tears prickle at her eyes—their story had always made her cry, but it felt wrong to get emotional in front of Steve—but she held them back. "I, uh, I've always been a little more impulsive than SHIELD would necessarily have liked, but Peggy definitely encouraged that trait." Quinn did her best to smile, but wasn't sure it was a nice smile.

Steve fell quiet, his eyes on the dying flames in front of them. Quinn studied his profile for a moment, waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn't. It barely looked like he was breathing. Quinn pushed herself up and started for her room, sighing quietly to herself, wishing there was something she could do to make the whole twisted situation easier on Steve.

"Is she…" Quinn stopped walking. "Is she still alive?" Steve's voice was tight, controlled.

"Yes," Quinn said without turning. "She lives in DC now."

"Is she—Could I—Quinn?"

She did turn around then and couldn't keep her face from falling when she saw the pain on Steve's face. "Yes?"

"Does she know I'm… alive?"

"Not yet," Quinn said, taking a few steps back towards the couch. "Agent Coulson and I decided it would be better to wait to see if you were okay before telling her. We didn't think there would be any point in telling her, just to have you not actually wake up or something."

"That makes sense, I guess. Could we…" He seemed at a loss for the rest of the sentence.

"I can tell her, if you want. Or go with you, or whatever you want," she said softly, her heart constricting in her chest.

He just nodded.

* * *

The rain started at about six, but it didn't keep Steve from taking a run around the property—he found the fence around the perimeter of the property and followed it for at least three laps; Quinn could catch glimpses of him from the sliding glass doors at the back of the cabin. When he came back up, he started doing push-ups on the stone patio. Quinn watched him as she drank her coffee. It was hard not to watch. There was no denying Captain Rogers was an attractive man, and wet from the rain with a determined, focused look on his face…

Quinn shook her head and walked over to the desk to boot up the computer connected to SHIELD's servers. Once it was connected, she opened the files she'd been working on and flipped open the first in the stack of physical files she'd brought with her. Digitizing was fascinating work.

She very pointedly did not look at Steve when he came inside and went to shower. In fact, the morning progressed in silence. Steve continued to read through files and, at one point, Quinn noticed he'd pulled out the sketchbook and pencils he'd purchased when they went shopping and began to draw. She worked on the files for a few hours, until her grumbling stomach forced her to stop.

"You hungry?" she asked Steve as she passed him and walked to the kitchen.

"Yes," he replied. "You cook?"

Quinn turned and fixed him with an indignant expression.

Steve smiled. "I just noticed there wasn't a lot of food in your apartment that wasn't in a takeout container."

"Ha ha, I can cook. A few things." It took her a few minutes of digging around in the fridge and cupboards to find everything, but eventually she had the ingredients for homemade mac n' cheese on the counter. "Like mac n' cheese. I just don't _like_ to cook. It's so much easier to order food."

Steve appeared at her side. "I don't remember the last time I had mac n' cheese."

"Well, hopefully I don't poison you by accident."

"Can I help?"

"Uhm, sure. Fill the pot with water and get it boiling for the pasta. I'll start working on the cheese sauce." Thankful she had the recipe memorized, Quinn started melting butter. "What were you drawing? If I can ask."

Steve's cheeks reddened. "I was sketching you, actually. It's been so long since I drew anything, though it doesn't feel like it for me, but I wanted a... an actual subject to draw while I made sure I still could. If that makes sense." The flush deepened. "Maybe I should have asked—"

"Oh, no, it's fine." Quinn was smiling, feeling oddly touched. "Can I see it?"

He nodded, checked the water, and then went to retrieve his sketchbook from the couch. When he returned to the kitchen area, he flipped it open to the first page, and Quinn was faced with several small sketches of herself: working, sipping her coffee, running her fingers back through her hair, chewing her bottom lip in thought…

"Steve, those are… amazing." She added the milk and cheese to the roux and then turned back to look at the drawings again. "You clearly didn't lose any talent while you were frozen. I'm… I don't even know what to say."

"You're a good subject," Steve admitted as he closed the sketchbook. "You go through a lot of facial expressions when you're working." He tossed the book on the table and then added the pasta to the boiling water.

Quinn focused on the cheese sauce for a moment, while she forced herself to stop blushing. "Well, happy to oblige," she said with a smile.

They finished prepping the meal in silence, moving surprisingly well around each other in the small kitchen area. When it was in the dish and in the oven, Steve set the table and Quinn disconnected the computer from the SHIELD server and turned on the television instead, popping a movie in from the few she'd brought with her. She cycled through the menus until she could hit play.

"What are we watching?" Steve asked.

" _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ —it's the first in the _Indiana Jones_ series from the '80s. Some of my favourite movies." Quinn pulled the dish out of the oven and let it sit for a minute while she pulled a couple beers from the fridge. Then she moved the dish to the centre of the table, between the two place settings and handed Steve one of the beers, opening hers as she sat down. "Since it's still raining, we can't really do much else. If you don't like it, I brought some more movies."

"Well," Steve started as he dished out a massive pile of mac n' cheese, "I've missed seventy years of movies, so I've got to start somewhere."

Quinn smiled and took a sip of her beer, feeling like something had clicked into place.


	4. Chapter 4

_April 23rd, 2012  
_ _Undisclosed Location—The Retreat_

"So, were you watching me the whole time I was out of the ice?"

Quinn drew her bottom lip between her teeth and slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her bad leg was beginning to ache, but that wasn't surprising considering they'd walked almost to the edge of the property—further than she'd walked since getting the brace. "It sounds kinda creepy when you put it like that, but no. You were found a few days before they brought you to New York. The scientists had you before then." She massaged her thigh a bit through her pocket. "I was with you from the time you arrived in the city, though. You  _are_ my assignment, after all."

Steve nodded, a hardness taking over his face. The wind had a bit of a bite to it, but the super soldier was in a t-shirt and sweatpants and seemed unbothered by the temperature. "Right. My watchdog."

"Hey, you could be stuck with a lot worse.  _Trust me._ " Quinn forced herself to grin, but part of her was a little wounded. Steve had opened up to her a bit, and he was relaxed around her now, maybe even liked her, but she knew he didn't trust her. Not yet. She couldn't blame him, but she also couldn't help wishing it wasn't the case. "If it makes you feel better, I did other work while I was in the room with you."

"Maybe a bit better."

She winced as her leg twitched, her muscle trembling. There was a bit of a wobble in her next step, but she tried to hide it; she could feel the brace working to correct her stride and figured she'd be fine. "Also, I haven't reported anything to SHIELD since we left New York," she said quietly. "Not even to Agent Coulson."

"He's your boss?"

"Yeah. My direct superior, and the man who recruited me into SHIELD. He's… my friend. More like a father to me than anything else, really." She was babbling a bit in response to her pain. Quinn pushed some stray strands of hair back from her face, her eyes on the scenery in front of them. "He's a fan of yours too. That's one of things we bonded over, actually." Her leg trembled again and she actually had to stop walking to let the muscle relax.

Steve stopped as well, turned. "Quinn?"

She sucked in a breath. "It's my leg. This is most exercise than I've done at once since I got the brace."

"Are you okay?"

"I will be. My muscles are just tired." She rubbed her thigh over her jeans, along the scar tissue. Inhaled a deep breath and let it out slow. Quinn managed three more steps before her knee buckled and pain shot through her limb.

Steve stepped forward and caught her before she could hit the ground, his hands warm and strong on her ribs. "We should head back." He looked up at the sky, taking in the approaching clouds. "It looks like it's going to start raining again." As the words left his mouth, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Steve looked at Quinn, raised his eyebrows, and then swung her into his arms and started for the cabin.

"I can probably still walk," Quinn said, trying to ignore the flush in her cheeks and how much she liked being in Steve's arms.

Steve slowed his pace; it wasn't until then that Quinn realized he'd been moving fairly fast. "If you want to get drenched…"

Quinn wrapped her arms around Steve's neck with an exaggerated sigh. "All right then—rescue me from the discomfort of wet socks and jeans, oh mysterious white knight!" She kicked her good leg up a bit to strike a pose worthy of a romance novel cover.

Steve chuckled.

After a fraction of the time it would have taken them if she had been on her own feet, Quinn and Steve were back inside the cabin, Steve stoking the embers in the fireplace to a blaze as Quinn changed into dry clothes, repositioned her brace, and brushed and rebraided her hair. She settled on the most comfortable couch in the main room, her leg propped up on the coffee table, and snuggled deeper into her hoodie. A moment later, Steve joined her after changing into a pair of the jeans Quinn had talked him into buying, and another t-shirt. He grabbed two beers from the fridge on his way by and handed one to her as he sat down.

"How's your leg?"

Quinn opened her beer and took a hearty swallow. "Fine." She winced as another tremor went through the limb, the spasm visible through the thin material of her leggings. "Or, rather, I will be. This used to happen all the time."

Steve's brow creased with concern. "Is there something that'll make it better?"

"Heat. Oh, there should be a heating pad thing in the cupboard with the blankets." She made to get up, but Steve was on his feet before she even got an inch off the couch. "Thank you," she called.

Steve lifted a hand. He opened the cupboard and pulled out the fabric bag filled with beads. "This it?"

"Yeah. Just stick it in the microwave for forty-five seconds or so."

Quinn watched as Steve did just that. She was, once again, impressed with his ability to pick up new technology quickly. Steve had pretty much mastered her tablet in less than a day, and the unfamiliar tech in the kitchen proved no match for him either. When he brought her the warmed pack, she draped it over her thigh, closing her eyes as the heat soaked through to her tired muscles. The rain had picked up, thunder rumbled in the distance, and the sky was darkening at an alarming rate—they were inside for the rest of the day, it seemed.

"I was hoping there'd be better weather for your time up here," she said absently as her gaze drifted out the window.

Steve shrugged. "I like the rain."

Quinn smiled, her eyes still on the clouds. "Me too."

There were several moments of fairly comfortable silence as they watched the rain lash the windows and the dark clouds creep toward them over the trees, lightning flashing purple-white. They sipped their beers and Quinn moved the heating pad around, getting every last bit of heat out of it she could. When Steve broke the silence, she almost jumped.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be possible for me to read the files from Peggy's time with the SSR and SHIELD?" There was something in his voice that told Quinn he was nervous about asking the question, or maybe he was just worried what the answer would be.

"I should be able to access most of them," Quinn answered without hesitation. She snagged her tablet off the coffee table and connected to SHIELD's database. She had Level 7 clearance, and most of Agent Carter's files fell under that. There were just a few from after the war that had a higher classification; Quinn was immediately curious but knew there wasn't anything she could do about it. Maybe Coulson would when they got back to New York. "Here you go," she said, passing the tablet to Steve. "I know the files Director Fury had me pull for you included the stuff about her personal life, but all her operations that I can access are in there."

Steve looked surprised as he took the small device. His eyes darted across the portion of the lengthy list visible on the screen. Peggy's career had been long and illustrious. "I… Thank you."

"I told you I wouldn't lie to you, Steve, and that includes not hiding things from you. I can guess what Peggy meant to you, because she's told me what you meant to her, and I've read my great-grandfather's account of your interactions—he was more observant than you might have thought." A smirk twitched across her lips before she took another pull from her beer. "I know you don't really trust me, Steve, and I get that—"

"Quinn."

She closed her mouth and turned her head to meet Steve's gaze. He was holding the tablet almost gingerly and the screen had shut off at some point. Quinn raised one eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

"I… I trust that you won't lie to me about this stuff—" he tapped the screen "—but with it on record like it is—"

Quinn sighed and shifted a bit on the couch. "It'd be easy enough to check, which doesn't go a long way to prove my trustworthiness."

Something like amusement flashed in his eyes, his mouth curling up at one corner; the expression made Quinn smile too. "Are you going to let me finish?" She nodded, and Steve continued speaking. "You don't seem like a bad person, Quinn, and I… It's just hard not to feel like you were chosen for this… job because of the connections we share. It feels like someone thought you could get information from me or get me to cooperate."

Quinn raised her hands in surrender. "I won't deny being chosen because of our connections. Coulson mentioned that he thought it might make your adjustment easier since you might be more comfortable around me, and I would put money on Director Fury thinking it could get him something, but I have no desire to manipulate you into doing anything you don't want to, Captain, and frankly, I don't think there's anything you could tell us that SHIELD doesn't already know."

His mouth quirked again. "That's good to know."

She could tell he didn't really believe her, but that was all right. At least for now. With an exaggerated sigh, Quinn got to her feet as smoothly as she could. "I'm going to take a nap. Let me know if you need any other files or anything."

Steve just nodded, his eyes already back on the tablet.

* * *

_April 27th, 2012  
_ _Undisclosed Location—The Retreat_

The next four days passed mostly in silence. Steve went through all of Peggy's files—some of them more than once—and Quinn caught him reading through her file and Colonel Philips's journal again. She said nothing about it, just let him read. He also spent some time going through SHIELD's files on Captain America and the Howling Commandos too. Quinn stuck to her work, actually managing to finish everything she'd brought with her; Coulson sent her more to do when she asked, and she'd loaded several books on her tablet, so she was far from bored. After Steve had finished with the files, he withdrew into his thoughts. He ran around the Retreat's property, did push-ups and sit-ups, chopped wood for the fire, and disappeared into the surrounding woods for hours at a time. He was heedless of the rain that soaked him as he exercised outside, and when he was inside, he sketched or watched a movie from the collection Quinn had brought.

Quinn kept her distance through it all. Steve would talk to her when he was ready. She could understand his reluctance, his apprehension, but she didn't like it. She liked Steve, and it bothered her more than it should have that he didn't trust her, that he didn't think of her as a friend.

Although, why would he? They'd only known each other for a few days.

On the fourth day since all conversation other than what was incidental or necessary had stopped, Quinn was sitting in front of the computer, scrolling through a collection of reports about possible additions to the Avenger Initiative, bored out of her mind. She leaned back in the chair and dropped her head back over the top of it so she was looking at the ceiling. Her bad leg was propped up on a footstool, but it was getting stiff from disuse. With a small groan, she got to her feet and reached her arms up the ceiling, lacing her fingers together as she stretched. Her back popped when she bent over and she groaned again.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked from the couch, actual concern in his voice.

She nodded as she straightened, as more joints cracked and her bad leg throbbed. Her golden eyes landed on Steve. The sketchbook he'd been working in was lying on his outstretched legs, revealing a rough outline of the view out the sliding doors. "Yeah, just stiff. My joints always pop like that." Quinn walked over to stand behind the couch, so she could get a better look. "That's beautiful."

"Thanks." His features scrunched up a bit as he studied the drawing, and then he fell back into it, pulling his legs back up onto the couch to continue sketching.

After a few seconds, Quinn realized he wasn't going to say anything else, so, with a sigh, she headed into the bathroom, thinking a hot shower would help her leg. There had been a constant, dull pain since her near fall a few days before, after weeks of improvement. She made a mental note to talk to Tony Stark when she was back in the city; maybe her brace needed to be recalibrated or adjusted or something. Thankfully, the hot water helped almost immediately. Tension Quinn hadn't realized she was carrying in her shoulders released and she sighed.

It was heavenly.

Right up until the moment she stepped toward the tap to turn it off, her foot hit a puddle of soapy water, and the tub tipped up to meet her.

Her shoulder hit the edge of the tub at the same time her hip slammed into the bottom of it, the thud echoing slightly; or maybe it was just her head ringing.

"Quinn?"

She blinked a few times as she looked towards the open door, where Steve stood, one hand on the doorknob, and a possible blush on his cheeks. It was hard to tell through the stream from the tap and the slight blur to her vision, but it looked like he was halfway into the room already, and she hadn't even heard him open the door. Quinn didn't think she'd hit her head, but maybe she had.

But then Steve said, "You're bleeding," crossed the bathroom, and all Quinn's thoughts stopped.

He shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around Quinn as he picked her up. Steve was definitely blushing, but his focus was laser-straight as he set her on the counter and tended to her split cheek and the bruises forming on her shoulder and hip. Quinn knew she was blushing as well, and that she was enjoying Steve's attention far more than she should have been, so she focused on keeping the towel over her lap and chest the best she could without impeding Steve's work. If her nudity was making him uncomfortable at all, he wasn't letting it stop him from helping.

"Does your head hurt?" he asked quietly as he applied a bandage to her cheek.

Quinn was having a hard time looking away from Steve's blue eyes. "Just a little bit. Nothing some Advil won't get rid of. I don't think I have a concussion."

"Do you feel nauseous at all?" He lifted his eyes, and the contact was intense from that close.

Quinn's reply came out almost a whisper. "No."

After a few heartbeats, Steve pulled his gaze away and did a final check of her shoulder and hip, his touch feather-light and raising goosebumps in its wake; the chill air on her damp skin didn't help. His fingertips skimmed the scars on her thigh, and, whether intentionally or not, he traced a few of the deeper imprints.

"Was it your leg?"

She nodded when he looked up at her. "It's been sore since we went for a walk. I should have been more careful."

"Well, I think you'll be okay," he said with a smile. "Secure the towel and I'll carry you to your room, and then I'll make us something to eat, if you want."

"That'd be good." She wrapped the towel around her chest and twisted it into place. Steve was careful to keep the towel between them as he lifted her into his arms, and Quinn avoided looking at him, keeping her arms tucked against her chest; he'd already seen everything, but suddenly she felt self-conscious and wanted to keep herself covered. "Uhm… thanks," she said as Steve set her on the bed.

"Will you be all right?"

"I should be. If I need help, I'll yell."

There was a moment where they both hesitated, and then Steve left the room, shutting the door behind him. Quinn let out a shaky breath. She was warm, her skin sensitive against the towel. Gingerly, she touched the bandage on her cheek, wincing slightly. There was part of her that was embarrassed, but she tried not to think about it—so Steve had seen her naked. It didn't have to change anything. He'd helped her when she needed it—again—and had been nothing but respectful. There was no reason for her to get all worked up about it.

_Don't think about,_ she told herself.  _Just put on your brace and some clothes and then go and eat dinner and watch a movie or something. Relax._

After pulling on her plaid pyjama shorts and a baggy t-shirt, and securing her brace on her leg, Quinn limped into the washroom to retrieve the clothes she'd been wearing and hang up her towel. She brushed her hair quickly and then entered the kitchen, where she took up a position at the dining room table and watched Steve move around the room, assembling what looked like chicken Caesar salads from the leftover grilled chicken and bacon in the fridge.

"Still feeling all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sore, obviously, and I'm sure I'll look  _great_  when these bruises bloom, but I'll be okay." She gave Steve a smile when he looked at her, eyes appraising as if he was expecting her to lie. "Thanks for making food."

"No problem. Do you want to watch something while we eat?"

"Sure."

Quinn moved to the living room and turned on the television and the computer hooked up to it. After a moment's deliberation, she selected  _Gladiator_ , and then found herself a semi-comfortable position on the couch, just as Steve brought the salads over. He'd also poured her a glass of iced tea, and concern was still the dominant expression on his face; she also caught his eyes on her scars again, but she didn't blame him. They tended to draw the eye, and they were redder than normal from the heat of the shower.

"Thanks," she said as she accepted her food. "I'm really okay, Steve. You can stop looking at me like I'm going to fall over."

He laughed a little as he settled in at the other end of the couch. "Sorry. That was… It was alarming, hearing the sound of you falling from out here. I wasn't sure if you'd want me to—"

She grinned at him, cutting him off. His ears were turning a little pink. "You came to my rescue, Steve. I don't care that you saw me naked." Her voice was confident, but Quinn could feel her cheeks flushing again with the memory; she wasn't a prudish person, so she was surprised the moment was lingering so much. "So don't worry about it. Now be quiet and watch the movie."

Steve's grin was wide, and something brightened inside Quinn. "Another of your favourites?"

"Shh." Quinn shoved a mouthful of salad into her mouth and glared playfully at Steve.


	5. Chapter 5

_April 30th, 2012  
_ _Undisclosed Location—The Retreat_

"When was the last time you spoke to Peggy?"

Quinn looked up at Steve where he was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing, her tablet nearby; he hadn't let it get far away since she'd given it to him. She was sitting on the floor, stretching out her leg so the muscles didn't tighten too much. Steve had been reading through some of the files again and he asked random questions as he went, though they were never quite what Quinn expected. He was sketching Peggy now: as he remembered her and as she appeared in the files.

"It's been several months," she said after a moment's thought. "The last time we spoke, she wasn't doing so well so we could only chat for a minute."

Pain flashed across Steve's face; Quinn figured reading about Peggy's condition was what had driven him to silence for several days. She couldn't even imagine what it felt like to learn the person you loved and been torn from was slipping away, and that there was nothing that could be done. Nothing you could do. She reached forward, grabbing for her toes and putting her nose to her knees to give Steve a minute.

"I think… I think I'd like to go and see her after we get back to New York, if it's possible."

"I'll arrange it." Quinn stood up a little awkwardly and brushed off the backs of her legs. Her leg twinged. "The quinjet will be landing in about thirty minutes," she said, catching sight of the clock on the wall. Steve nodded, his attention back on his sketchbook. "I'm going to check in with Coulson before we leave—make sure nothing's changed." Steve only nodded again. Quinn sighed.

She crossed the room to the computer, logged into the secure SHIELD server, and used the videoconferencing program to call Coulson's phone. After two rings, her boss's face appeared, fluorescent lights hanging high above—he wasn't in the office in New York, which meant he was in the Mojave Desert, in the underground portion of the Joint Dark Energy Mission Facility, the main location of Nick Fury's Project PEGASUS. Quinn knew the SHIELD and NASA scientists were studying the Tesseract, the same cube Steve had had to deal with during the war, but she wasn't privy to the details of the research. Or what Fury was hoping would come from it. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to know where the facility was, since she hadn't been able to join the mission.

"Enjoying being back in the desert?" she asked.

" _What do you think?"_ Coulson asked, his sarcastic tone suggesting just how well he was taking to the heat.  _"Sorry you can't be here to join me."_

"Thanks, Boss, but I'll stick to hanging out with Captain America. Everything good for our return to New York?"

" _Yes. All the files Steve requested have been uploaded to a tablet that's waiting for him in his apartment, and I even managed to get him cleared for some of Agent Carter's other missions."_

"Awesome."

" _The gym is ready for his use, too, if he wants it."_

"I'll let him know. How's PEGASUS going?"

" _I… don't honestly know. Dr. Selvig seems confident that he's starting to understand the thing, and Clint's enjoying the assignment, but after Delta's last mission, I can't say I blame him."_ Coulson paused to reply to a question someone off screen asked him, and then issue some instructions to someone else.  _"I've got to go—the director is coming by tonight and he wants an update. I'll call you tomorrow, kid. Have a safe flight back."_

"Will do, Boss." Quinn touched two fingers to her forehead in a salute before disconnecting the call.

For a moment, she sat in front of the computer, thinking about Project PEGASUS, and about the Tesseract. At Level 7, Quinn wasn't cleared to read all the files about the mysterious cube, but she knew enough that it made her nervous. If she hadn't been nearly crushed in New Mexico, she would be there now, working with Coulson and Clint, helping to manage and oversee, but there was a small part of her was glad she wasn't. No one knew what the cube might do at any one moment, or what it was truly capable of.

For the first time since being assigned to light duty, she didn't actually miss the rest of her job so much.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked from across the room.

Quinn gave a little start, and then smiled at Steve. "Yeah, just lost in thought." She got out of the chair and headed towards the bedrooms to grab her bag. "Coulson says everything's good in New York, and he got a tablet set up for you. It's at your apartment. There's also a retro gym for you to use, if you want it. I think it's a boxing gym, but it hadn't been really updated in  _years_." She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and returned to the main room, where she dropped it onto the floor beside Steve's. "I can show you around some more when we get back, if you want, or you can go about your business on your own, if you're sick of my company," Quinn said, intending it to come out as a joke and not quite succeeding.

Steve frowned a little, but said nothing.

* * *

_May 1st, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's Apartment_

Not wanting to face the cold metal and glass of the office after the serenity of the Retreat, Quinn chose to work from her apartment after they returned, and the day after as well. Director Fury had left her another pile of paperwork to digitize and sort, as well as a few more files to assess for the Avengers Initiative, since, despite the World Security Council's reluctance about the project, Fury seemed intent on continuing and was barrelling ahead. In secret. Officially, the initiative was dead, but Fury didn't let go of anything easily. He had also asked Quinn her opinion on Captain America's state of mind, and if she thought he'd be up for joining the Avengers if Fury had to flip that switch.

Her answers had been… well, vague. She didn't like speaking for Steve, not after spending so much time with him, but she did think he was mentally—and physically—fit enough for the job, if he chose it.

Privately, she was pretty sure he  _would_  join the Avengers. He was a soldier, had always been a soldier, and, from what he'd told her and what she'd read, always would be a soldier. She didn't think he'd abandon a fight, especially not when the stakes would be as high as what the Avengers would probably face. If the project ever got off the ground. But she kept those thoughts to herself.

Late on the first of May, Quinn pulled herself away from her computer and padded around her apartment, working out some tension in her hips and trying to shake off some nervous energy. She hadn't seen Steve since they'd returned—as she'd expected, he'd gone into his apartment and hadn't come out. Quinn wished there was something she could do to help his transition, but she knew he'd have to come to her, that prying and pushing wouldn't help the situation at all. As she circuited her apartment, Quinn fell into her thoughts, moving mindlessly.

When there was a knock at her door, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Fuck," she breathed, gathering herself together. Her leg twinged again, a muscle above her knee spasming continuously as she cross her apartment to the door and put her eye to the peep hole. It was Steve, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, a duffle bag in one hand. "Hey," she said, opening the door. "Headed to the gym? It's late."

"I don't sleep much. Do you… want to come?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow, but she was also smiling. "I won't be much of a sparring partner."

His mouth turned up in a smirk. "Maybe not physically, but you're more than my match conversationally. I just… want someone to talk to."

Warmth spread through Quinn's chest and she knew her smile was radiant, her tawny eyes shining. "Yeah, just let me change." She stepped back from the door, allowing Steve to step into the hall, and then shut the door behind him, turning on her heel and heading into her bedroom. "The gym's not too far from here," she called as she exchanged her pyjamas for a pair of leggings and a baggy long-sleeved shirt, and pulled on socks and a pair of bright purple Converse Clint had bought her for her last birthday. "Do you want to walk?"

"Sure."

Quinn replaced her brace over the leggings and grabbed her gym bag as she headed back out to the front hall; how much she'd be able to do at the gym was uncertain, but hey, a workout wasn't why she was going to the gym.

She locked her door and then led the way through a dark New York to the old boxing gym SHIELD had bought at some point and seemingly done nothing with. It still functioned regularly for about half the week, but only during the day. When Steve unlocked and opened the door, a musty scent washed over them—years of sweat and dust and leather and blood—but the place was silent, their footsteps echoing around the cavernous ceiling. The paint was faded and the few windows were nearly opaque with grime and dirt, only the wire reinforcing visible through them, but the lights were bright, and the gym appeared well-stocked with all the material a boxer-in-training might need.

As Steve got settled, Quinn wandered the perimeter of the room, studying the yellowed posters advertising fights and workshops and classes, and reminding the students to drink water, wrap their hands, and get any injury checked out. When she made it back to where a line of punching bags had been arrayed, Steve was sitting on a bench, wrapping his hands with an ease that spoke to maybe years of practice.

"Did you do much boxing?" Quinn asked, perching on the edge of the boxing ring. She wiggled under the ropes and then leaned forward, draping her arms over the middle one.

"Nothing competitive. Just to train… get used to my new body after Rebirth."

"That was quite the drastic change. I can't imagine it was easy to suddenly be nearly a foot taller and like, two hundred pounds heavier."

Steve looked up, amusement in his blue eyes. "Two hundred pounds? I weight a bit more than twenty pounds before Rebirth."

"Not much more from the looks of things." She grinned, debating her next words. They could bring up bad memories, but Steve wanted to talk, so… "What  _was_ it like? When you stepped out of the pod or whatever it was they used for Rebirth?"

Steve sighed and finished wrapping his hands. He rose from the bench, bouncing on the balls of his feet and flexing his fingers, presumably checking that the bindings weren't too tight or uncomfortable. "It was… a lot," he eventually said, moving to stand in front of one of the punching bags, the one closest to Quinn. "As you know, I wasn't exactly healthy before, but after…" He took a stance in front of the bag, squared up his hands, and punched, the dull thud loud. "After, everything was easy." Punches punctuated his words: "Moving. Breathing. Seeing." He took a breath, executed a combination. "Nothing had ever been so easy before. I felt powerful. I could see… colour." Steve was quiet as he punched the bag more, harder than before, the chains holding the bag up rattling and dust filling the air. When he stopped, he exhaled, long and slow, and then moved to stand in front of Quinn, look her in the eye. "Can you imagine what it was like to finally see the colours the way everyone else does?"

That warmth was back in Quinn's chest as she met Steve's intense gaze, and her eyes were burning at the emotion in his voice. "I…" Her voice failed her and she shook her head.

He held her gaze for a few heartbeats longer; Quinn had the strangest urge to reach out and touch him. "It was… I'll never forget that moment. That's the first thing I remember after stepping out of the pod. That and…" Steve shook his head and then returned to the bag, his stance. "Peggy was there. Hers was the first face I saw clearly."

The site of the warmth inside tightened. Quinn put a hand to her breastbone. "Was she wearing that bright red lipstick of hers?" Her voice came out breathy, unsteady.

Steve smiled; Quinn knew the expression was meant for only himself. "Yeah."

Silence reigned for a little while then, Steve building up a sweat as he continued to punish the bag, and Quinn watching. The t-shirt did little to conceal the movement of his muscles, and Quinn found it impossible to pull her eyes away, her thoughts drifting from the present, to when he'd come to her rescue in the bathroom, when he carried her back to the cabin, to what it must have been like for him to be reborn, to what he was like before changing…

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

_No. Quinn, stop._ She shook her head and wiggled out from under the ropes. Mimicking Steve's earlier preparations, she wrapped her hands with the blue hand wraps she kept in her bag, and took up a stance in front of the bag next to Steve.

"You sure?" he asked her, one eyebrow rising.

She shrugged with one shoulder. "It's been a long time since I've used a full-sized bag, but with Captain America beside me, I feel safe enough to at least give it a shot." Quinn threw a few hits at half-strength, getting a feel for it again; the chain creaked a bit.

Steve gave her a close-lipped smile and moved to stand behind her bag, holding it. "All right, Quinn. Let's see what you've got."

Quinn grinned at him a little wildly, and then ran through the drills she remembered, putting all the strength she could in the hits. She was rewarded with solid thuds and an approving nod from Steve. "I tore my knuckles and put friction burns on the tops of both my feet the day I graduated from the SHIELD academy," she said between combinations. "I wish I could still add the kicks—I can feel the urge, but I know it would be bad to try."

"Probably a good call." He tightened his grip on the bag when Quinn landed a few more hard hits. "Why on the day you graduated?"

"I was nervous. Scared. I went from the adopted girl with no plan for the future to a SHIELD agent in a very short amount of time and… well, it's not exactly a warm environment. Except for Coulson, I didn't really have any friends until after I graduated and got to work with Clint and Nat and I met Trip. I spent a lot of time in the gym." Quinn's leg twinged as she unleashed another salvo, her aim beginning to slip.

Steve took note of her flagging energy. "Who's Trip?"

"My ex, a friend. The grandson of Gabe Jones," she added with a smirk.

Steve narrowed his eyes a little, but then laughed. "Of course."

Quinn's smirk turned into a full-on grin as she prepared to throw another punch. "My life seems to always lead in that direction." She threw another punch, her knuckles sliding to one side as her leg buckled.

Steve stepped forward and steadied her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah… Just don't think my leg's fully recovered from falling in the shower." She reached down to rub her scars around the brace. "I'll sit back down now. You continue." Quinn dropped onto the bench, pushed her sweaty hair back from her face, and started unwrapping her hands. "Can you—"

Quinn's phone rang, the sound louder than it should have been. For some reason, Quinn went cold when she saw that it was Coulson calling.

"Boss?"

" _Quinn! Quinn, something—with the Tesseract—"_

The connection was bad, and there was a lot of noise in the background. Coulson's voice was on the edge of panic. "What's happening? Coulson?" She got up and moved towards the door, hoping that would clear the signal up some. "Coulson!"

" _The base—breaking—Quinn, get—safe—"_

"What's happening?" Quinn asked, her voice growing frantic. She could feel Steve's eyes on her; there were no hits from the bag. "Coulson?" Worry broke her voice and she sobbed. For a moment, there was nothing.

" _Quinn, kid, something's going down with the Tesseract."_

And then the line went dead.

Quinn called for Coulson anyway, and didn't bother to try and hide the panic in her voice.

"Quinn, what is it?"

Steve was close behind her, close enough for her to feel the warmth coming off him. She had the bizarre urge to lean into that heat for comfort or stability or something, but instead she just turned, rising her wide eyes to his face. "I've got to go. Something… Coulson might be in trouble. I'll see you tomorrow, Steve."

She grabbed her bag and then headed for the door again, her phone still clutched in her hand, her eyes still wide.

"Quinn."

She stopped with the door open and looked back at Captain America, who was watching her with a worried crease to his brow. Quinn wanted to tell him what was up, but that would involve revealing the Tesseract and the fact that SHIELD was studying it. She wanted him to come with her. She wanted… It didn't matter what she wanted. Coulson might be in trouble and there might be something she could do about it from HQ. But she wasn't going to lie to Steve. She didn't want to hide anything from him.

Quinn took a deep breath, trying to banish some of the panic. "Agent Coulson is in the desert studying the Tesseract and something's happened at the base. The connection was bad, so I don't know what's happening, but I'm going to go to the office and see if I can't find out. Call me if you need anything."

And then she turned and left, the night air a little cold, though she barely felt it.


End file.
